


Fight the Universe

by squirenonny



Series: Voltron: Duality [15]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Autistic Keith (Voltron), Dualityverse Fic, Fluff, Gen, Hunk (Voltron) Has Two Moms, Hurt/Comfort, Loosely canon to Duality, Sensory Overload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-19 10:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14235495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirenonny/pseuds/squirenonny
Summary: A collection of ficlets for the Dualityverse, mostly hurt/comfort, because folks on the discord are having a rough week. Summary and tags will update as I add on.Chapter 1: Keith has a bad sensory day. Luckily Akira is there to help.Chapter 2: Hunk's stressed, and Lance and Pidge team up to cheer him up.Chapter 3: Hunk's moms are there for him after a long week.Chapter 4: Mateo tries to teach the alien kiddos how to play Clue. They improve upon the rules.





	1. Lullaby for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the title of this chapter suggests, the song referenced at the end is _Lullaby for You_ from the World Ends With You soundtrack, which happens to be one of my favorite songs for de-stressing. [You can listen to it here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cy7UEonZz1U)

Keith’s head was already pounding by the time he set the Red Lion down at the outskirts of Rheim. It had been a long battle, the razor-edged light of lasers assailing him from all angles, the shriek of robeast claws against Red's hull still ringing in his ears. He felt every line of sweat sliding down his spine, heard an echo of Shiro’s shouts and Lance’s encouragement and Pidge’s reports. Matt’s headache twinged behind Keith’s eyes even after he'd left the cockpit.

Two steps from the end of Red’s ramp, he was swarmed with Rheimians tugging on his sleeve, shouting his name, shouting their thanks, snapping pictures with little cubes that pulsed blue-white like handheld supernovae.

 _Vrekt._ He should have taken Matt’s offer of escape and gone back to the castle. Except Rheim was too important to the Coalition, its government a cultural and political touchstone for the entire quadrant. Shiro wanted all hands on deck for the post-battle celebration so they stood the best chance of making a good impression.

Another camera pulsed, and Keith screwed his eyes shut, his pulse pounding in his temples. _Just put in an appearance,_ he told himself. _Just smile and pose for a couple of pictures and shake a couple hands and you’re done._

But vrekking _quiznak_ , why did there have to be so many people here?

Their voices blended together into a buzz he could barely make sense of, odd syllables resonating like laser pulses and setting his ears twitching, straining against the confines of his helmet. Keith yanked it off, but that only made the voices louder.

“Paladin!”

Keith forced his eyes open, cursing the sun for sitting so low in the sky, and glared at the Rheimian who’d jumped in his path, clutching a box that blared the same disjointed music that came from three separate stages around the plaza. For a moment, Keith contemplated grabbing the box and skewering it with his bayard, but he took a breath, released the impulse, and forced a smile that probably looked more like a grimace “That’s me.”

The Rheimian let out a high-pitched squeal that cut right through Keith’s skull. “I’m sorry,” they said, entirely too bubbly for the aftermath of a long, bloody battle that had leveled entire blocks. “I just—I watched you flying up there, and it was _amazing!_ I want to be a pilot, too, you know. Klyl says I wouldn’t be any good at it, but I think they’re wrong. What do _you_ think? Do you think I could be a pilot like you?”

“You’d... have to ask the lions,” Keith said, only just managing to stop short of a growl.

For some reason, the Rheimian found that funny, and they giggled, seizing Keith by the arm and dragging him over sideways for a picture.

Skin crawling, Keith pulled away, grunting what maybe could have become an excuse, if he’d had any more energy for dealing with loud, clingy strangers, and all but sprinted into the crowd. Spots danced across his vision from the flash, and he felt utterly wrung out. Whatever adrenaline rush had sustained him through the battle, it was long gone now, and all he wanted was for the day to be over.

Vrekking _hell_. He really should have left with Matt.

He stalked across the plaza, angling toward the northern corner, where Blue and Black had set down in the shallows of Lake Reim. The Rheimians were shorter than humans by at least a foot, but the plaza broke down into a series of terraces in this direction and colorful stalls splashed with garish paints in Voltron’s colors choked the paths. The plaza was so busy Keith couldn’t figure out how to get from Point A to Point B, let alone spot a familiar face among the crowd. The next time someone took him by the shoulders and spun him around, he had a to fight down a sudden, inexplicable urge to cry.

“What is it _now?_ ” he growled, one hand snapping up to throw off the offending arm.

Akira stepped back, shock breaking across his face, and Keith's blood turned to ice.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Keith muttered. His ears pressed back against his skull, and somehow even that managed to feel like a live wire being dragged across his skin. The voices of the crowd rose higher, a hundred voices all competing to be the most obnoxious, and Akira’s silence rang louder than it all, swelling all around him. The street could have opened up and swallowed him whole, and he thought he might have preferred it. “I’m sorry, Akira,  _vrekt,_ I just--”

Akira waved his hand, a lopsided smile softening his expression. “No need to explain. I’ve been accosted three times in the last five minutes, and _I’m_ not even a paladin.” He glanced around, then lifted a hand to his mouth and leaned just close enough for Keith to make out his whisper. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

To be perfectly frank, Keith didn’t care what it was Akira wanted to show him, but he didn’t want to lose his buffer against the crowd. So, steeling himself against the grating voices, he trudged along behind Akira. Some of the stalls had begun grilling up what Keith could only assume was meat. It smelled like scorched plastic, and Keith wrinkled his nose as he passed. How long had he been here--five minutes? Ten? He couldn't do this.

The crowd pressed in closer on all sides, every jostling elbow and firecracker burst of laughter twisting the spring in Keith’s gut until he thought he might just explode on the next person to utter the word _paladin_. He quickened his pace, following so close on Akira’s heels he almost stepped on them, but if Akira minded, he didn’t let on.

Then, suddenly, the crowd broke, and Keith reflexively sucked in a breath, the open air making his skin crawl.

“Here we are,” Akira said brightly.

Keith looked around, frowning. “Here…?” He saw nothing. A few houses, shutters drawn against the festivities. A single bench beneath a street light. And there, at the end of the street, a row of Guard fighters.

Akira was watching Keith, a smile playing at his lips. He laughed at the dumbfounded look Keith sent his way, then gestured for Keith to follow.

“But...” Keith’s steps dragged, his desire to get away from the crowd warring with Shiro’s instructions to mingle. It was one thing for Matt to go back to the castle to sleep off his migraine, or for Pidge to skip out on the party to analyze the data they’d collected on the robeast.

 _This_ felt like running away from his paladin duties. Keith might have said something to that effect, but he couldn’t seem to make his voice cooperate, and his feet just kept plodding along, his muscles uncoiling as the shouts of the Rheimians faded to an irritating buzz in the distance.

Akira pressed his hand to the control panel on the underside of his fighter, and the hatch over the cockpit retracted. In an instant, Akira was up and in, leaning over the side to offer Keith a hand. Keith hesitated, but only for a moment.

The cockpit sealing shut was an instant balm to Keith’s frazzled nerves. The noise from the plaza cut off, and the tinted viewscreen dimmed the cockpit to a comfortable twilight. Keith closed his eyes, sinking to the floor with his back pressed up against the wall. His stomach churned with mortification, but the darkness and silence was so much less belligerent than the festivities outside. Even his hyperawareness of Akira’s motions couldn’t goad him into returning to that hellscape.

“Sorry,” Keith whispered. “I didn’t mean to pull you away from...” He waved vaguely, blinked against another swell of aimless emotion, and buried his face in his arms.

“Eh.” Akira sat beside Keith, a soft, rhythmic clicking drawing Keith’s attention. He peeked over his elbow to see Akira fiddling with a device no longer than his thumb, a white cord plugged into the top. “You’ve seen one party, you’ve seen them all, to be honest. Music?”

Keith blinked several times, staring at Akira’s outstretched hand for a long moment before he recognized the little nub as an earpiece. He took it, carefully fitting it into his ear, and leaned his head back against the wall as a melody began to play.

“Volume controls are on the side,” Akira said, pressing the player into Keith’s palm. “You can skip anything you don’t like; I won’t care. Oh—and we have blankets and snacks if you’re interested.”

Keith glanced at the pile Akira nudged with his toe, but didn’t bother reaching for them. Not yet. The combination of post-battle nerves, shame, and pure overload had left him nervous and sweaty, and he'd rather just  _sit_ for a second. He closed his eyes and turned up the volume on the music. It was a simple song, compared to what Pidge usually had blasting in their workspace, but there was something soothing about the woman’s voice and the slow pulse of the accompaniment.

“What is this?” he asked, glancing at the screen of the player and waiting for his armor's translator to decode the text. _Lullaby for You._

Akira scratched at his neck, laughing softly. “It’s from a video game—don’t laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?”

“Because I’m a nerd." Akira heaved an overdramatic sigh. "It’s okay. Takashi never lets me live it down, anyway.”

“Like he’s any better.”

Akira laughed, falling silent as the song went on. It drew Keith in, swirling through him and massaging the tension from his body. When it finished, he hesitated for a moment, then started it over, and Akira smiled without opening his eyes.

Keith hunched his shoulders, though there was no one here to see him. “I like it.”

“Me too,” Akira said.

Keith leaned forward, crossing his arms atop his knees. “Shouldn’t we get back out there?”

“When you’re ready.” Akira lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “Takashi knows I wander at these things. If he actually needs us for anything, he’ll call. Don’t see why we shouldn’t hang out in here until then.”

“We were supposed to put in an appearance.”

“I don’t remember anyone saying how _long_ an appearance it had to be. Do you?”

Keith didn’t, but he was pretty sure it was implied that they stay longer than it took to cross the plaza once.

But it _was_ nice and calm in here, and Shiro really would call if he needed anything...

Keith started the song over once more and let himself relax, stretching his legs out in front of him as far as the cockpit would let him. He leaned back, shifting until he could lean his head against Akira’s shoulder. The tension returned for just an instant—just until Akira draped his arm across Keith’s shoulder, a comfortable, grounding weight. Steady in away the shifting crowd could never be. Familiar.

Satisfied, Keith closed his eyes and let himself get lost in the music.


	2. Operation HUGS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stress-baking is a thing and Lance has a Good Idea. (Set ~1 week after discovering the Blue Lion.)

“Something’s bothering Hunk.”

Pidge looked up from their computer, blinking a few times before they managed to wrench their mind back into the physical world. “What?”

“Hunk,” Lance said. “He’s stress-baking.”

“Stress-baking.” Pidge leaned back, trying to figure out if Lance was trolling them. It was hard to tell, with Lance. “Seriously?”

Lance waved his arms, his jacket flapping like a thing possessed. “Seriously! How long have you been up here? The kitchen’s been disappearing beneath a mountain of goo-based pastries for, like, _eight hours,_ Pidge! He’s resorted to making food goo ice cream!”

“Gross?”

Lance practically fell forward, his hand hitting Pidge’s desk with a _thud_ that resounded in the upper reaches of Green’s hangar. “Yes! Very gross! That’s the problem!”

Pidge gave him a blank stare, then slowly shut their computer. “Okay… Sorry, I think I’m missing a few steps. Since when does the castle-ship’s lame excuse for nutritional content mean something’s bothering _Hunk?_ Beyond the obvious affront to his palate, I mean.”

Breathing in, Lance straightened up and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Pidge.”

“Lance.”

“You know Hunk? Our dear friend, Hunk? Universe’s best chef Hunk?”

“I might have met him once or twice.”

Lance bobbed his head. “Then you know he’s a literal god in the kitchen.”

Pidge pursed their lips, but they had to admit it was a fair assessment. Granted, just about any amount of culinary skill might win someone the mantle of godhood, considering the alternative out here was literal slime. But Hunk had proved himself a master of improvising, given the pantry full of mystery ingredients he’d been presented with. “He is. And he bakes all the time. Why are we suddenly worried about it?”

“Because this time is _different_!”

Pidge sighed, but pushed back their chair and stood. “Why don’t you just show me?”

“Good plan, Pidge. Follow me.”

“I know where the--” Pidge huffed, shuffling into the elevator behind Lance. “Okay, fine. Blaze that trail, oh fearless leader.”

Lance’s grin was short-lived, which was enough to set Pidge on edge. Hunk cooking to relieve stress was a relatively normal occurrence, from what little Pidge had seen this last week, but Lance missing an opportunity to ham it up?

God, something really _was_ wrong.

* * *

On second thought, they should have just trusted Lance about the stress-baking.

The kitchen was an explosion of baked goods, charred disasters, and dirty dishes. Bowls, skillets, cookie sheets, spoons, whisks, measure cups... So many dishes that they'd spilled out over the edges of the sink, even with the dishwasher chugging away. Every counter was covered in baked goods—and then some. The stools had been commandeered as dessert holders, and even the cupboards were emptied out and repurposed, which meant the floor around the central island was covered in plates and cups, forcing Pidge and Lance to stick to the edge of the room.

“ _See?_ ” Lance hissed, tugging on the strings of his hoods. He stuck one string between his teeth and started chewing, the skin between his brows puckering.

Hunk pulled another dish out of the oven and turned, scanning the kitchen for somewhere to put it down. Finding nothing, he let out a moan and stuck it back in the oven with the door open as he hastily rearranged cakes, puddings, and platters of what Pidge thought were supposed to be cookies, but were ninety percent crumb.

“Hunk?” they called, sliding their feet along the ground and shoving cups out of their way. “Is everything all right?”

Hunk pushed a plate a few inches to the right, setting off a miniature avalanche of baked goods that ended with a glass bowl shattering on the kitchen floor. Hunk stared at in horror, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes.

“Aw, fuck,” Pidge muttered, knocking over half a dozen glasses as they picked up their pace, edging closer to Hunk’s work space before leaping over the last of the barricade. Lance followed behind, hissing each time the dishes clinked together.

They made it to Hunk’s side just about the time he finally gave up, sliding to the ground and sniffling pitifully at the slightly burnt… pie?… sitting on the oven rack.

“Hey, buddy,” Lance said, sitting down on Hunk’s right side as Pidge took the left. “Wanna talk about it?”

Hunk lifted one shoulder in a shrug, tipping his head back like he was hoping gravity might help him keep the tears at bay. “It’s nothing. Stupid stuff.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Pidge said.

Hunk’s face scrunched up, and he blinked more furiously, stubbornly keeping the tears at bay. “I just—I can’t get anything right. All I wanted to do was make some cookies for everyone, but I can’t read any of the labels and the oven has all these weird temperature settings, like, how the heck do Alteans even cook things? I just want _one_ thing to come out right. Is that so much to ask?”

Pidge sighed, hugging their knees to their chest and scooting a little closer to Hunk. “That’s not stupid at all,” they said, glaring at the floor. “It’s--” Their breath caught, and they cleared their throat, face burning. “It’s completely reasonable. Bad enough we’ve got to fight a war. The least the universe could do is leave us our routines.”

Hunk let out a weak little laugh, scrubbing at his cheek as a tear slipped past his defenses. “I just want my mama’s kitchen back. I want my own stove with my good pans and my spice rack and—and--”

Lance’s bottom lip was quivering now, and he wedged himself under Hunk’s arm, clutching it to his chest like a teddy bear. “I miss home, too,” he said, ducking his head so the other two couldn’t see his face. “Being superheroes _sucks_.”

Hunk pulled Lance close, then looped an arm around Pidge, who went boneless, sagging against Hunk as their eyes burned. “At least we aren’t alone out here,” they said. “I’ve got my brother back, and you two have each other...”

“And we’ve got you, too,” Lance added.

“Yeah, I guess. _I_ wasn’t the good teammate back at the Garrison, though.”

“Screw the Garrison,” said Lance so emphatically it startled a laugh out of Hunk. “I’ll take Voltron any day.” He sat upright, drumming his fingers on his chin as he surveyed the chaos around them. “Okay, Hunk, buddy, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think this is helping. You’re stuck in a spiral, and we need to break you out.”

“How?” Hunk asked. “I’ve tried helping Coran with the stuff on the castle, but I don’t understand that any better than I understand this pantry.”

Lance waved a hand, running his finger through the pudding that had oozed out of the broken bowl. He sniffed his finger, stuck it in his mouth, and made a face. “Nope. No cooking. No tinkering. No programming. This calls for the big guns: Operation HUGS.”

Pidge lifted their head off Hunk’s shoulder to frown at him. “HUGS? What is that, an acronym? Hunk’s… Ultimate…”

“No, no, no, no.” Lance fluttered his hand at them, blindly patting at their face until he found their mouth and covered it. “No. Hugs. Like hugs and kisses. But in all caps, because it’s _important._ ”

Pidge narrowed their eyes at him, and then at Hunk, who was already smiling.

Pidge wasn’t sure they wanted to get roped into this.

* * *

“Hey, Pidge?”

Pidge tipped their head back until they caught sight of Lance. The three of them had stripped the rec room of all cushions and dragged them into Hunk’s room, where they made a nest on the floor by the bed, burrowing in together, Lance practically on top of Hunk, Pidge content to nestle in a few inches away. They had some Altean drama playing on the ceiling, but Lance had lost interest five minutes in and talked Hunk into a facial.

Pidge narrowed their eyes at him now. “No.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “A little moisturizer, Pidge! It’s not gonna kill you!”

“I said no. It’s slimy.” They turned back to the movie, doing their level best to ignore Lance’s disappointed huff.

Hunk laughed softly, but he was already halfway asleep, wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket Lance had dug out of storage somewhere. It hadn’t been that hard to get him to relax, once he was out of the kitchen. A facial, a round of Twenty Questions that ended with Hunk giggling into a pillow as Pidge and Lance bickered over whether or not ET counted as _real_ now that aliens had been confirmed. Then a good long round of cuddles that Pidge had quietly bowed out of as the last of the tension bled out of Hunk.

Pidge bit their lip, then sighed. “If you’re that bored... I _guess_ you can braid my hair.”

Lance’s squeal set a curl of fear through Pidge, and they scrambled away, narrowly avoiding Lance’s grasping hands.

“One braid!” they cried. “Nothing fancy!”

Lance stopped, cocking his head to the side. “Define _fancy._ ”

Pidge groaned, swatting at the hand that crept toward them over the blanket sea. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“You’re going to love it,” Lance said. “I promise.”

Pidge squinted at him—but that proved to be a mistake as his brilliant smile broke through the last of their reservations. “Ugh, _fine._ ” They dragged themself upright, settling between Lance’s legs as he grabbed a comb and Hunk roused himself enough to find a spritzer in the bathroom and fill it with water.

Lance was surprisingly gentle, working through the tangles with the utmost patience--far more than Pidge had when it came to their hair, certainly. It only tugged a few times, and before Pidge knew it, Lance was onto the braid itself. The motion was rhythmic enough to lull Pidge into a doze, and they swayed with the slight pull on their scalp.

It was over too soon, and Pidge tried not to show their disappointment.

“Not bad,” they said, grudgingly, as Lance held up a mirror. A slender braid framed Pidge’s face, tied off with a green elastic. They wondered, suddenly, where Lance had learned to braid, and caught his eyes in the reflection.

He smiled, a little bittersweet, and Pidge’s heart gave a lurch. They spun, lunging forward into a hug that knocked both mirror and comb from Lance’s hands.

“Thanks, Lance,” they said. “I know it sucks being stranded out here, but it sucks a little less with you around.”

“Aww, Pidge.”

“I mean, who else am I gonna pick on all day, huh? _Matt?_ He knows my weaknesses too well. You’re a _way_ safer target.” They jabbed his side, grinning as he yelped, and scrambled back, kicking up pillows to slow Lance’s pursuit. Lance cursed, Hunk laughed, and Pidge dove under the bed before Lance could catch them.

Lance flopped beside the bed with a huff, Hunk rolling over to rub his shoulders. From their hiding spot, Pidge could just see the corner of Lance’s mouth quirk upward.

“Love you, too, you little gremlin.”


	3. Universal Constant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akani sometimes feels out of place in deep space, but she'll always be there for her son. (Set immediately after Hunk's interlude from Paths May Cross.)

A great many things about life on the Castle of Lions were beyond Akani’s realm of expertise. She wasn’t a soldier or an engineer like her son, who had grown into his role as a paladin so thoroughly Akani could hardly imagine another life for him. She wasn’t a scientist like her wife, who found new things every day to marvel at and tease apart in the bowels of the castle.

Akani was a chef, and though her talents were well appreciated by the paladins and their friends, it was a little bit surreal to carry on as usual when nearly everyone she spoke to on a daily basis was an alien.

Then again, when your son came trudging into the kitchen looking like he hadn’t slept since his last visit and picked up your wife in a back-breaking hug, it didn’t really matter that they were all living on a space station in the middle of a war. A mother’s job was a universal constant.

Lana shot Akani a worried look, even as she returned the hug, rubbing Hunk’s back. “Everything okay?”

“Just tired,” Hunk said, his voice wavering though it was clear he was trying not to let on how he was feeling. “Glad to be home.”

Akani glanced at Hunk, boneless in Lana’s arms, and then at Shay, who lingered by the door like she wasn’t sure she should interrupt the moment. Okay, so something had definitely happened. Not a true disaster, or Hunk wouldn’t be this calm, but enough that the both of them needed a bit of a pick-me-up.

“Well.” She turned off the burner on the stove, then crossed to Hunk and Lana, running her fingers through his sweaty hair. “Your timing is impeccable. There’s just enough time to change out of that armor before dinner’s on the table.”

“And after dinner, I can take you down to my lab and show you the fun I’ve been having with physics. Did you know some rooms in this place can reorient their gravitational pull?”

Lana grinned at Akani, who scowled. She was intimately familiar with that particular functionality, thanks to Lana’s brilliant “date idea” two nights ago. (She didn’t have to look so smug about it--and she definitely had better not tell Hunk she'd swept Akani off her feet. It wasn't Akani’s fault vertigo looked like swooning.)

“Sounds awesome,” Hunk mumbled. “Can’t wait to see.”

He lingered with his head on Lana’s shoulder for a moment longer, but then Shay shuffled her feet, glancing toward the door, and Hunk immediately straightened up. Something passed between them, carried on the pseudo-telepathy Hunk had once tried to explain to Akani. She still wasn’t sure she understood it.

But then, she’d never really understood Hunk _or_ Lana when they started talking about physics, and that didn’t stop her loving them for it.

Akani kept up her smile until the door closed behind Hunk and Shay.

“Distraction?” Lana asked. “Or real talk?”

Akani hummed, turning back to the stove to give herself something to do. The sauce still needed tasting, and the veggies needed to go into a bowl. Busy hands. That was what she needed. “Distraction, I think. At least at first. He’s too tense to talk about anything right now.”

Lana’s hand settled in the small of Akani’s back, and she kissed her cheek. “Distraction it is. I’ll go set the table.”

* * *

It didn’t take long to put the finishing touches on the meal. Lana set the bowl of steamed tomora tubers on the table just as Shay walked in, dressed much more comfortably than before. Her steps slowed as she realized Hunk wasn’t back yet, and Akani could see the stages of panic sweep over her face.

Well that just wouldn’t do.

Akani plunked down the serving spoon and rounded the table toward Shay. “You look like you could use a hug.”

She spread her arms, and Shay’s eyes widened, but she stepped into the hug after only a moment, tucking her arms in against her chest.

“Long week?” Akani asked.

Shay nodded. “It was not _bad_ ,” she said. “But I am glad for a chance to relax.”

She didn't _seem_ relaxed, but Akani supposed that would come with time. The two of them hadn't spent all that much time together, and virtually none without Hunk present. So for now Akani just hummed, rubbing Shay’s back. Her skin was an odd texture—not unpleasant but rougher than human skin, textured even through the fabric of her tunic. Warm, too. Akani and the rest of her family were free with their shows of affection, but Shay was more reserved. This was only the second time Akani had actually hugged the girl.

“I’m glad, too. We don’t get enough time together.”Akani pulled back, her hands lingering on Shay’s shoulders. “What do you like to do? We should plan a girl’s night next time you two have some time off.”

The panicked look was back, and Shay shot a look toward the door, visibly relaxing as Hunk walked in, running his fingers through damp hair. He cocked his head to the side at the sight of Shay and Akani there, then split into a grin. Shay ducked her head, and Hunk toned down the smile as he joined them.

“This smells amazing, Mama. Sorry I wasn’t here to help you make it.”

Akani huffed, pulling Hunk against her and steering both him and Shay toward the table. “You save the world every day. That's more than enough, if you ask me.”

* * *

It took Hunk all of twenty minutes to unwind enough to start ranting about his week—and not for the first time, Akani counted herself blessed to have a son who was so willing to talk to her. She might worry about him, but she never had to worry that he was suffering in silence. And this time, at least, it really wasn't that bad. A couple of battle, most of them fought from inside the Yellow Lion--which Akani knew to be one of the safest places in the universe. Most of the rest of the week had been spent on reconstruction, which was exhausting in a different way, but far from the worst of the universe's dangers.

Still, Akani couldn’t help wondering how all this constant running around could be good for the paladins.

“Do you want me to get you a week off?” she asked as they cleaned up.

Hunk stopped halfway through a rambling story of a long slog through a swamp to reach a remote prison. “I mean… Shiro would give it to us if we asked for it, I’m sure. It’s just—there’s so much to be done. If I sit still for more than a day, my mind just goes back to all the people out there who need me. So... I don’t know that a week off would really do me that much good.”

Akani eyed him, her arms sudsy up to the elbows. The castle had automatic dishwashers, of course, but she always found scrubbing dishes to be soothing. “If you say so. Just know that I’d fight someone for you. Just point me in the right direction.”

Hunk laughed, his towel snapping as he finished with the skillet and set it back in the cupboard. “I know, Mama. But I’m good. This is good.”

Akani smiled, cursed at her soapy hands, and leaned her shoulder against his. “This universe doesn’t deserve you, baby.”

He flushed, his laugh high and self-conscious. “Stop it. You’re making me blush.”

Akani hummed, rinsed the last of the dishes, and passed it to Hunk. “All right, all right. Your mom wanted to show you the evil gravity chambers, anyway.”

She dried her hands. Then, as he turned to head for the door, she looped an arm around his neck and pulled him down so she could kiss the side of his head.

“What was that for?”

“For being my son. I’m so proud of you, Hunk.”

He smiled again, a spring in his step as he rejoined Lana and Shay in the other room. They'd finished wiping down the table, and Shay had taken Lana's hand between her own, the air glowing blue around the point of contact. Lana's eyes were wide, her face split in a grin that reminded Akani far too much of the time she'd nearly caught their kitchen on fire with one of her new 'experiments.' (Better to do it at home, she always said, and not in a room full of teenagers. To say Akani disagreed would be an understatement of the highest caliber.)

"Akani, look!" Lana cried, catching sight of her. "You think it might function like bio-luminescence back on Earth?"

Hunk blinked several time. "I doubt it?" he said. "But... you know, I'm not actually sure."

Lana wrinkled her nose, patting Shay's hand. "I'll see if I can't set up some tests--if you don't mind helping."

"I... Of course?"

"Lana." Akani sighed, swatting her arm. "Don't scare the poor girl!"

Lana raised her hands. "Right, right. Hunk! You, me. Gravity chambers." She hiked her thumb toward the door, and Hunk grinned.

"You're on!"

Akani rubbed her forehead as they went, alarms already ringing. "Sorry about them," she said to Shay.

"Do not be. I am quite familiar with Hunk's... enthusiasm."

"That's one way to put it." Akani put an arm around Shay, patting her arm. "But come on. We should go, before one of them blows something up."


	4. Cluedo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mateo tries to teach the alien kiddos how to play Clue. They improve upon the rules.

Mateo probably shouldn’t have taught the alien kids how to play Clue.

Oh, sure, it had gone well enough at first. A little bit of frustration as he tried to explain the rules to a bunch of aliens who didn’t really have a concept of board games and kept asking why everything wasn’t a hologram. A little bit of fighting over game pieces (Edi claimed Professor Plum before Mateo even had a chance to name all the pieces, and when Maka challenged her for it, Mateo really thought someone was going to end up with a claw in their eye.)

But it settled down eventually. Edi was playing Professor Pum, Luz Miss Scarlet (as always), Maka grudgingly took Colonel Mustard (only because he sounded strong), and Wyn claimed Miss Peacock, leaving Mateo with Mr. Green. He’d have fought for Miss Peacock, in honor of Lance, but he really didn’t want to fight Wyn.

The first game went… okay. It could have been better, and there was a lot of complaining at the end when the murder weapon turned out to be the candlestick, which Maka insisted couldn’t actually kill anyone. Mateo wasn’t sure Maka knew what a candlestick _was_ , but then again, Mateo thought it was a silly weapon too, even if his parents told him old-fashioned candlesticks were a lot heavier than the ones his family had back home, which would have just broken in two if you hit someone over the head.

The most fortunate part of the game, as it turned out, was that the killer was Mrs. White, and no one was playing as her.

They weren’t so lucky the second time around.

They  reset the  game, Edi and Maka bickering over whether the knife or the laser gun made a better weapon while Wyn scrutinized the  room cards, utterly baffled by the Billiards Room. (Mateo explaining that billiards was a fancy-pants name for pool helped, but Mateo was pretty sure he was picturing a swimming pool now.)

Well, whatever. They were playing again, and no one was challenging the basic rules of the game, so that counted for something. Mateo’s dad was always saying stuff like that.  _The kids aren’t fighting right now. That counts for something._ Mateo couldn’t help feeling a little bit more important thinking the same things about the other kids. After all, he was _basically_ the oldest here. Maka's years were shorter and Wyn aged slower, so _technically..._  


They got through a few rounds of the second game before Maka slammed his cards down on the table and leveled a finger at Edi.

“A- _ha!_ ” he cried, loud enough to make Luz jump.

Edi pushed his finger away. “A-ha! What?”

“It was _you_!”

Edi frowned. “What?”

Maka had a glimmer in his eyes that Mateo didn’t like, but he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands under his chin in what would have been a pretty good Sherlock Holmes impression (if he’d ever heard of Sherlock Holmes), and waggled his eyebrows.

“You,” he said, pausing for dramatic effect, “killed Mister… Wait, what’s his name? Mister Somebody?”

“Mr. Body,” Mateo supplied. “Is that your guess for this turn? Professor Plum in the Library? What weapon?”

Maka waved his hand. “Forget the weapon. It’s probably something dumb like a food goo nozzle, anyway. What matters is that Edi is the murderer.”

“Professor Plum” Mateo said. “And the weapon _does_ matter, and a food goo nozzle isn’t one of the options.”

Maka rolled his whole head—something Mateo was pretty sure he’d picked up from watching Mateo and the other humans roll their eyes—and groaned in Mateo’s direction. “I don’t get why we have to go through all that in the first place. You should know where she killed this guy—it’s the room with all the blood. And it doesn’t  _really_ matter what she used. If she killed him, she’s guilty, end of story.”

Wyn crossed his arms on his knees, fanning himself with his cards. “ You mean Professor Plum is guilty.”

“ _Whatever_ ,” Maka huffed. He jabbed a finger at Edi again. “You’re the killer! Throw yourself on my mercy!”

Luz started giggling into her cards, Wyn sighed, and Mateo pulled Maka back from Edi, who looked ready to defend her honor with claws and fangs.

“ _Maka,_ ” Mateo whined. “That’s not how the game works!”

“Then let’s make a new game! Edi’s the murderer, and we’re gonna bring her to justice.”

Luz leaped to her feet, her cards scattering across the table. “Yes!” she squealed, bouncing on her toes as Mateo scrambled to flip over her cards, screwing his eyes shut and pretending he hadn’t seen that she was holding the rope card. “Edi! Edi-Edi-Edi! You need to go pick a room and hide a murder weapon in there. Ooh! And you gotta say who you killed! It can be a murder dinner party like Mom and Dad did that one time! We can investigate!”

“ _What?_ ” Mateo rounded on her. “Luz, we don’t have any of the stuff for that kind of game.”

She stuck her hands on her hips and pouted at him. “So? We’ll make it up.”

“That… actually sounds kinda fun,” Edi said, her grin sharpening to match Maka's.  


Maka flashed his fangs, laughing in a way that sounded more like a super-villain than a detective. “And we’re gonna hunt you down.”

“You’ll have to find me first,” Edi said. She stuck out her tongue, snatched the cards out of the others’ hands and off the table, and made a break for the door, Maka howling as he gave chase. With a shout, Luz scrambled up onto the table and leaped, taking Maka down.

“Wait!” she said. “You need to let her do the murder first!”

Wyn frowned. “Shouldn’t we want to stop that?”

“But then there’s no _game_ ,” Luz said giving him a _look._ “ _Duh._ ”

Wyn chuckled, holding up his hands. “My mistake.”

Mateo sighed, rubbing his forehead, and glared at Wyn. “You’re supposed to be the responsible one here, not me.”

Wyn held up his hand. “That’s Edi’s job. Maka drags me into trouble _all_ the time.”

“Yeah, I do!” Maka said, rolling over so Luz went tumbling off him. Maka pumped a fist in the air, and Wyn bit his lip to stifle a grin as Mateo frowned at him.

But, hey. Mateo wasn’t going to be a spoil-sport, even if they  _were_ breaking all the rules of the game. (Besides. This new version did sound kinda fun.) “Fine,” he said, trying to mimic his mom’s fake-exhausted sigh. She only ever used it when she wanted them to think they’d worn her down, but usually she was having just as much fun as the rest of them. “But if Edi actually kills someone, it wasn’t my idea.”


End file.
